


a leap of faith

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, sailor Peter, siren Elias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: Peter is no fool; he knows the ways of the sea, knows how to chart his course by the stars, how to judge the weather by the cast of the sky, how to knot a rope so it will never unravel. He also knows better than to listen to a siren.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 30
Kudos: 79





	a leap of faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PossiblyHuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PossiblyHuman/gifts).



> Inspired by this lovely [art](https://twitter.com/dadforplaid/status/1353877245421563904) by PossiblyHuman! Thank you so much for letting me borrow this AU! 
> 
> The necklace in this fic is made of [hundred-eyed cowrie shells](https://rammcollections.org.uk/object/17-1922-40/), because of course it is.
> 
> Many thanks to cuttooth for betaing! <3

Peter is no fool; he knows the ways of the sea, knows how to chart his course by the stars, how to judge the weather by the cast of the sky, how to knot a rope so it will never unravel. He also knows better than to listen to a siren. 

Most sirens are fickle. If they can’t lure their prey with a song, they’ll turn ugly and vicious, intent to take by force what they can’t win by charm. Their pretty faces hide razor-sharp fangs, and it’s easy to miss the claws at the end of their delicate fingers. Many a sailor has ventured too close, drawn by their intoxicating voices, their deceptively gentle faces, only to meet a bloody end on the foam-spattered rocks. Peter has watched them lick their claws clean after, satisfied with the meat of his compatriots. Even spattered with gore, they’re beautiful. 

Sirens don’t play the long game. They don’t follow the same ship, the same sailor, for years at a time; they simply don’t have the patience, and no meal could be worth the effort. 

Which is what puzzles Peter about Elias. At least, that’s what the siren claims to be called. He first saw Elias when they were both young. Peter was alone on the little boat he used sometimes to get away from the noise and bustle of life on land. 

At that distance, Peter couldn’t see the telltale signs of a siren. He thought he’d stumbled upon a swimmer sunning himself on the rocks. He was half right. 

Elias finally noticed Peter watching him and called out, “Hello, there,” in a rich, smooth voice. That was when he rolled over, and Peter caught sight of his powerful tail, with its blue-green scales glittering in the midday sun. The sight made Peter’s heart race as he realized what he was dealing with. 

At Peter’s stunned silence, the siren smirked. “Not going to say hello? Does that make you the strong, silent type?”

“I won’t make a meal for you,” Peter said. 

“Who said anything about eating you?” Elias asked, tilting his head coyly. “It gets so lonely in the sea. I’m sure you understand.”

Peter licked his lips nervously. He knew he should flee. Sirens were master manipulators, and he was only giving the creature more time to sink its claws into him. 

Instead he asked, “Can’t you bother your own kind?” 

Elias looked down, feigning sorrow. His long hair fell over his face, the strands gleaming wet. Peter wondered what color his eyes were, and if they were slit like a cat’s, the way the legends said. 

“My kind only meet to mate and to hunt. Otherwise, we tear each other to shreds. Instinct, I’m afraid.” He looked up at Peter. “I do so long for decent conversation. Why don’t you sit with me?” 

Peter snorted loudly. “I don’t know what idiots you’ve been eating, but you’ll have to try harder than that.” 

There was a long pause, and then Elias laughed. And laughed, and laughed. Finally he stopped, wiping an amused tear from his eye, and said, “I suppose I will.”

Then he began to sing, his voice clear and ringing. Peter didn’t recognize the language, but he understood the meaning perfectly: it was a song of home and hearth, of sea-salt kisses pressed to bare skin. A song of surrender, and escape. It was the most beautiful thing Peter had heard in his life. To this day, Peter still hasn’t heard anything close to its perfection. 

Without realizing it, Peter began to approach the rail. His hands were gripping the smooth wood, ready to vault over it, when the cry of a seagull broke his concentration and he realized what he was about to do. He recoiled, backing away so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet, as Elias laughed once again.

“Really, you needn’t be afraid of me. Why don’t you come and sit with me?”

Peter didn’t risk granting him a reply. Instead he steered the boat well clear of Elias’s sunning spot. Even miles away, he could still hear Elias’s song. 

Over the years, Peter rarely saw the same siren more than once, but Elias haunted him like a specter. Sometimes he would go years between sightings. Sometimes it seemed Elias was determined to hound his every step. He didn’t try to lure Peter over the rail again, so it seemed safe enough to humor the creature from time to time, and pass a few idle hours in conversation—at a safe distance. The siren could be a charming conversational partner when he wanted to. And Peter’s curiosity was natural, he told himself. Studying one’s enemy was a vital skill.

“You know,” Elias said one day, “There is quite a terrible storm in your path. If you continue this course, your vessel will be lost.” 

Peter scoffed. “Why should you care? I’m sure you’d love to make a meal of me.” 

“It doesn’t count if the  _ sea  _ takes you,” Elias complained. “It’s not sporting.” 

“How do I know you’re not leading me into a storm?” Peter demanded. 

Elias shrugged fluidly. “You don’t. But I would be most disappointed if the sea were to take you before I did.” 

For reasons Peter still doesn’t understand, he directed the mate to change course. Hours later, they spotted the storm on the horizon, a ship-killer if there ever was one. They caught the edges of it but were spared the worst. 

The next time he saw Elias, the siren was licking blood from his claws, his face and hands smeared in gore. He smiled a vicious smile, flashing canines as long and sharp as a wolf’s. Peter kept his distance for a while after that, but soon enough, Elias lured him in again, and they resumed their talks. The siren was good company, even if he couldn’t be trusted. 

One day, Elias appeared with something clutched in his clawed hand. 

“I have something for you,” he called. 

“I’m not coming down there,” Peter said flatly. 

“Lower a rope, then.”

Peter was curious enough to do it, watching as Elias tied something to the end before disappearing beneath the waves. His mind whirred with possibilities as he pulled the line. 

It was a necklace of white shells. Each shell was covered in dozens of delicate brown rings, like so many eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it. Surely Elias didn’t expect him to wear it. He had probably given it to Peter as a joke. Peter resolved to throw it into the sea. 

The next time he caught sight of Elias, the necklace was in his pocket. The siren flashed him a knowing smile. 

“You kept it,” he said, pleased. 

“I haven’t thrown it away yet.”

“Keep it,” Elias said. “It will bring you luck.” 

“I don’t need luck.”

“You’re a sailor,” Elias scoffed. “There’s never been a more superstitious lot than sailors.”

Peter had to admit he was right. He always has Martin read the bones before they set out from port, and the sailors’ quarters were riddled with charms against bad winds and the evil eye. In the privacy of his pocket, he rubbed the smooth surface of the shells with his thumb. 

“How do I know you haven’t cursed it?”

“Oh, Peter,” Elias said indulgently. “I don’t need magic to get what I want. I have my voice.”

Peter kept the necklace. Over the years, he grew accustomed to its presence in his pocket, a talisman. Sirens never plagued his ship again; he never heard their honey-sweet calls in the wind, luring him to join them beneath the waves. Instead the sirens sat upon their rocks, and smiled secret smiles as his ship passed by. 

Except Elias. Elias was always waiting for him.

Decades have passed since they first met. Peter’s bones begin to ache in the cold, and the crewmen are whispering when they think he can’t hear. He’s still strong, still capable, but they outnumber him. The ship will not be his for much longer. 

“This has really gone on for far too long,” Elias says one night. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Peter replies, staring out over the moonlit waves. The sea looks black in the darkness. 

“You and I, in this endless dance. Aren’t you tired, Peter? Don’t you want someone to take care of you?”

‘I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Peter argues. 

“I’ve heard how the men are talking. You and I both know your days as captain are coming to an end.” Elias locks eyes with Peter. “I can take care of you, if you’ll only let me.” 

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Peter challenges. 

Elias shrugs his elegant shoulders. “You don’t. It would be a leap of faith, as they say.” 

Peter is incredibly tired. The sea grows crueler every year, and nothing waits for him on land. If he even makes it to land. Elias stares up at him with patient grey eyes. Eyes that have watched him over decades. Eyes that haunt his dreams at night. 

“Come on, Peter,” Elias pleads. “I’ll take care of you. Let go.” 

Peter closes his eyes, and leaps into the ink-dark sea. 


End file.
